“Can I talk with you a moment?” she whispered. “Outside?”
They left quietly. Myles settled onto a bench just outside the chapel door. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, motioning for her to take a seat.
Alanna remained standing. “Sir—if a person has power—something that can be used for good or evil, either way—should they use it?”
He looked at her shrewdly. “A power such as magic?”
Alanna scuffed a foot against the floor.
“Well—yes. The Gift.”
Myles frowned. “It depends on the person, Alan. The Gift is simply an ability. Not all of us have it, just as not all of us are quick-witted or have good reflexes. Magic isn’t good or evil by itself. I believe you should only use it when you are absolutely certain your cause is just. Does that help?”
Alanna tugged her ear thoughtfully. “You couldn’t give a person a yes or a no, could you?”
Myles shook his head. “Not in this case. Moral issues rarely have yes or no answers.”
The door opened, and Jonathan came out. “Alan?” he asked softly. He was very pale, and his eyes were bright with held-back tears.
“Thanks, Sir Myles,” Alanna said. She went to her friend.
They buried Francis the next day. Raoul and Gary, finally getting better, came. The healer attending Alex was able to tell Alanna that he, too, was healing. Jonathan was at the funeral with his father. They disappeared afterward, and Alanna hurried back to her chores. She struggled with her thoughts, wondering if she should go to the healers and offer to help. She couldn’t do anything for Francis now, but there were others.
The fever itself made the decision for her. Coram and Timon found her washing dishes in the kitchens the next morning.
“Alan,” Timon called.
She looked up from a tubful of pots, frowning.
Coram’s voice was gentle. “Th’ Prince took sick last night. He’s callin’ for ye.”
Alanna put down her dishcloth. Her throat was tight with fear. “How is he?”
“Bad,” Timon said.
Alanna raced to Jonathan’s rooms, the two servants behind her. Opening the door, she froze. She couldn’t believe the scene before her. People were crowding around Jonathan’s bed. The incense in the air made her sneeze. The priests of the Dark God were chanting prayers for the dying while the Chief Healer stood aside. Duke Baird was a beaten man. Jonathan was hallucinating already, and the healer had learned the people stricken badly from the first always died.
Fury made Alanna gasp for breath. How could anyone get well in a menagerie? How could Jonathan breathe? This went against all the commonsense rules Maude had taught her for healing: clean air, quiet, absolute cleanliness, calm and reassuring voices. Didn’t these people know anything? Alanna opened her mouth—then closed it hard. She had almost ordered these adults to get out! She could guess how they’d greet such an order from a page.
She turned to Coram. “Get Sir Myles. Now.”
The burly soldier looked down at her. He knew that forward thrust of her chin. “Ye aren’t plannin’ somethin’ foolish, are ye?”
“No more foolish than this.” She jerked her head at the crowded room.
Coram sighed and met Timon’s puzzled look. “Sh—he’s Trebond,” he explained. “Stubborn as pigs, all of them. We’d best fetch Sir Myles.”
Alanna went outside and closed the door. She would wait in the hall rather than watch the insanity going on inside. It fortunately wasn’t long before the two men returned with a very curious Myles.
“I need your help,” Alanna told the knight abruptly. “Take a look inside.”
Myles peered into Jonathan’s room. When he closed the door, his eyebrows were raised. “You know there isn’t much hope,” he told Alanna softly. “Not if he’s so ill this soon.”
Her eyes and her voice were as hard as stone. “Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t. Look—I’ve been keeping something back. I have the Gift, and I’m trained to heal. The village woman taught me everything she knew.” When he didn’t laugh, she plowed on. “I may be only eleven, but some things even an idiot knows. You don’t make a lot of noise and fog the air with incense in a sickroom, Myles! And my Gift hasn’t been drained, like the palace healers’.” She saw the doubt in the man’s eyes and added, “Jonathan’s been calling for me. I think he senses I can help.”
Myles tugged at his beard. “I see. And what do you want me to do?”
Alanna drew a deep breath. “Get those people out of there. They’ll listen to you.” She couldn’t say how she knew the people in Jonathan’s room would obey a minor knight—she just knew. “Get them out of there so we can air the room, and so I can talk to Duke Baird.”
“That’s a tall order.” Myles thought it over, then shrugged. “You’re very convincing, Alan. And what have we got to lose?”
She looked at him, her eyes filled with pain. “Jonathan,” she whispered.
That decided him. “Very well.” He nodded to Timon. “Announce me.”
Timon, looking as if his world had turned upside down, opened the door.
“Sir Myles of Olau!”
The crowd hushed and faced the door. The priests stopped chanting. Myles stepped into the room, flanked by Coram and Timon. Alanna—ignored—followed. The change in Myles was stunning. The short, stout knight was suddenly very regal and very angry.
“Have you left your senses?” he demanded. His gentle voice was sharp and clear. “No one can tell me his Majesty knows of this—this folly. I won’t believe it.”
No one spoke.
“Get out,” Myles ordered. “This is a sickroom, not a funeral.” He glanced at the priests. “For shame. The boy isn’t dead yet.”
After a moment the head priest bowed his head and led his followers from the room. Some of the courtiers looked at Duke Baird: He was supposed to be in charge. The healer nodded at Myles, relief on his tired face.
“You can do nothing here,” he told the other nobles. “Myles is right. Go to your gods and pray for our Prince. It is the only way we can help him now.”
Slowly they left. Only Duke Baird stayed. Alanna hurried to Jonathan’s side. Her friend was stark white and sweating heavily. Alanna tucked the blankets firmly around Jon’s body.
“Coram,” she called. “Open the windows. Let’s get some clean air in here.”
Baird looked at Myles suspiciously. “What goes on here?”
“Alan asked me to help him,” the knight replied. “I follow his orders.”
Baird gaped at him. “You follow the orders of a page?”
“Alan,” Myles said, “you owe Duke Baird an explanation.”
Alanna rose and went to the healer. Quickly she told him everything she had told Myles, stopping only to motion for Coram to close the shutters again. “I’m not grown up and as fully trained as you,” she finished. “But I haven’t had all my power drained, either. And he’s my friend.”
“Friendship will not be enough,” Baird told her. “As a healer, you know normal healing takes only a little of the healer’s strength. This fever doesn’t. It will take all your strength—and if you continue to try and heal, the draining will kill you. Three of my healers are already dead. Can you risk your life against this sorcery?”
“Then you do believe the illness is caused by magic,” Myles said.
The healer rubbed his eyes. “Of course. No one outside the city has this sickness. No natural fever will slay a healer. And I find it very interesting that only after all the palace healers have been drained of their power does the heir to the kingdom fall ill.”
“Can none of our sorcerers fight this fever or track it to its source?” Myles asked.
“There’s no one in Tortall with the power. Duke Roger could, but he is in Carthak. The king sent for him, but not even Roger of Conté can travel so far in less than a month.”
Alanna listened to this and watched Jonathan. He was flushed and tossing under his blankets. She bit her lip. In a way
she had caused Francis’s death. She had denied her healing Gift, and he had died. She couldn’t make that mistake again.
“I’ll try anyway,” she said. Looking at Baird’s stern face, she added, “With your permission.”
Baird held a hand out to her, and Alanna took it. “I’m very tired,” the Chief Healer said. “If you are as able as you claim, it will be easy for you to strengthen me. Do so.”
Alanna looked at the Duke’s hand. Slowly, carefully, she reached inside herself. It was there: a purple, tiny ball of fire that grew as she nudged it with her mind. Her nose started to itch, as it always did when she first called on her magic. She ignored the annoyance. Her eyes watered. She gently drew the fire up through her body and let it flow down her arm into Duke Baird. He hissed, his hand tightening on hers. Alanna let the purple fire slide into the man until he could hold no more. She whispered, “So mote it be,” and broke their grip.
Alanna staggered, feeling a little dizzy. Myles gripped her arm.
“I’m all right,” she told her friend, then looked at Duke Baird. “I had to master that one. My brother always gets tired when we’re hiking.”
The healer was staring at her as he rubbed his hand. “Mithros guide you,” he whispered. “I think the Prince actually has a chance.”
He hurried from the room. Myles, Coram and Timon stared at Alanna, awed because the Duke had been so awed. Alanna felt dazed and a little lonely. She didn’t like people looking at her as if she were something frightening.
“You’ll stay?” she asked them, pleading.
Myles put an arm around her shoulders. “You may count on us,” he said. The other two nodded.
Alanna bit her lip, thinking. “We’ll try the natural remedies first,” she decided. “Coram, let’s build this fire as high as it will go and keep it that way.” The servingman bowed and left. Alanna went to the desk and seized paper and pen. She wrote quickly. “Timon, I need these things from the kitchens and some extra blankets.”
The man took the list and was gone. Myles began to build up the fire with the wood that was in the hearth basket.
“Alan?” Jonathan’s voice was a deep rasp. Alanna went to him and took his hand.
“I’m here, Highness. It’s Alan.”
Jonathan smiled. “I know you won’t let me die.”
“You’re not going to die,” Myles said over Alanna’s shoulder. “Don’t even think of it.”
Jonathan frowned. “Myles? You’re here?” He looked around. “I dreamed there were people—”
“There were,” Alanna assured him. “Myles threw them out.”
The Prince grinned. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”
“Come on,” Alanna said. “You’ve got to sleep.”
From the look in his eyes, Jonathan was ready to ask more questions, so Alanna reached for her magic once again. Stroking Jonathan’s temples, she held his eyes with hers.
“Sleep now, Jonathan.” Her rough, boyish voice was strangely compelling. Myles caught himself yawning. “Sleep.” Jonathan thought he was drowning in violets. He slept.
Coram came with armfuls of firewood. Timon returned with blankets and the kitchen items on Alanna’s list. She sent him for bricks while she settled down before the fire. Carefully she brewed mead, honey, herbs and lemon juice into a syrup for Jonathan’s cough. Her hand shook as she stirred. Myles noticed and took the spoon from her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stirring the mixture himself. “You’ve been shaking since you got Jonathan to sleep.”
She sat down wearily. “Duke Baird was right.” She accepted the glass of wine Coram poured for her and drank it down. “That fever. It takes it out of me—like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” She sighed. “Myles? Could you talk to the king and queen? They’ll be worried—”
The knight handed his spoon over to Coram. “Say no more,” he told her. He left, trying to smooth his shaggy hair.
Coram watched her as he stirred. “I hope ye know what ye’re doin’.”
Alanna rubbed her already aching head. “So do I.”
When Timon brought in the bricks, Coram heated them in the fire and wrapped them in cloth. Alanna packed them at Jonathan’s sides. Then she and Timon piled more blankets on top of the Prince. Soon Jonathan was sweating. Hard coughs tore from his chest. Alanna let her syrup cool just a little, then tipped some down Jonathan’s throat.
Every two hours they changed the sweat-soaked sheets and packed Jonathan in freshly warmed bricks and blankets. The room was stifling. Their clothes stuck to their bodies—Coram and Timon both stripped off their shirts. When Myles returned, he nearly fainted from the heat.
“Duke Baird’s with the queen,” he reassured Alanna. “He’ll see to it that she’s kept calm and doesn’t come here. And pirates have been attacking Port Caynn. His Majesty is in the War Chamber and cannot leave. They both have to trust Duke Baird’s judgment and leave us alone.”
Alanna looked around. Three sweat-soaked men—and outside this room, the entire palace—watched her, waiting for what she would say next. It was frightening. Was it possible that adults weren’t as assured and as powerful as she had always believed?
She didn’t have time to worry about that now. “Timon, let Sir Myles spell you,” she said. “You need to rest and eat.”
Timon obeyed. Now Myles helped her and Coram rewrap Jonathan, and Myles held the Prince while Alanna gave him her syrup. When Timon returned, she made Coram get some rest. By late afternoon Jonathan was coughing up the stuff that was choking his lungs. By dark he was sleeping, but his fever continued to rise. Alanna sent the others away to rest and eat while she watched her friend. Duke Baird looked in briefly and left—it was his third such visit, and he never said anything. Alanna only nodded to him. She had no energy left for conversation.
Myles returned with a tray of food. “Eat,” he ordered. “And I’m setting up a cot in Jonathan’s dressing room. It’s your turn to rest.”
Alanna knew her friend was right. She ate and then lay down in the dressing room, falling asleep immediately and not awakening until nightfall. While her friends went for a snack and a walk, she sat with Jonathan. The room was suffocating with heat, but the Prince was shivering. Sweat ran down his face. Alanna watched and gathered her strength. If the Dark God wanted Jonathan’s life, he had better be ready to fight for it.
The door opened. Alanna jumped to her feet, bowing deeply as the king and queen came into the room. She felt sorry for them. The king, who was always smiling, looked worried. Deep lines seemed permanently carved around his mouth. He kept one arm around his lady, supporting her weight. Queen Lianne sank into the chair Alanna pulled up for her. She was still not over her own bout with the fever, and her gown hung loosely on her.
“Alan of Trebond.” The king kept his deep voice quiet. “How is my son?”
Alanna swallowed nervously. “As well as can be expected, sire. He slept most of the day.”
Lianne’s voice was kind, but a little sharp. “How can you help him? You’re only a boy, no matter what Baird says.”
“Your Majesty, even I know better than to dirty the air with incense and surround Jonathan with wailing people,” Alanna told her. “Besides—he called for me. He trusts me, and he doesn’t even know I have the Gift.”
“Have you ever been trained?” King Roald asked.
“I learned all our village healing woman had to teach me, sire. I can heal, and—I can conjure. My brother’s the same, only he can see people’s minds and sometimes the future. I can’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell Duke Gareth this when you first arrived?” the king demanded. “Why didn’t your father tell us?”
She scuffed her foot along the floor. “My mother died having Thom and me. She had the Gift too. Father was angry—he thought their magics should’ve saved her. So he said he wouldn’t ever use his Gift again, and we weren’t to use ours. We weren’t even to be taught how to use it; but Maude, the village healer, taught us in secret.” She
hung her head. “As to the other, I want to be a knight. Using my Gift doesn’t seem fair, somehow. It’s as if I’m fighting dirty.” Roald nodded, understanding. “But Maude said I should use my Gift for healing. She said I had the power to heal more than most people. She said if I didn’t heal, I wouldn’t make up for the killing I did as a knight. I didn’t listen to her.” Alanna’s voice was soft. “I disobeyed her, and one of my friends died.”
The king put his hand on her shoulder. “You did what you thought was right, Alan. We can’t all see the future, and we can’t know what will be asked of us.” He rubbed his forehead. “I should have listened to Roger,” he said, more to himself than to the queen or to Alanna. “If he were here now, teaching you boys—” He drew a deep breath and looked at Alanna once more. “Jonathan has the Gift. He gets it from me—from the Conté line.
“If—when he gets well, I shall see to it you lads are properly trained. I have ignored this part of our heritage, too. Like your father, I thought our magic would vanish if I ignored it.” The king shook his head. “A knight must develop all his abilities, to the fullest. And evil is often armed with sorcery.”
Alanna thought she knew what the king meant. If she had been more thoroughly trained, she wouldn’t feel so helpless now. If the fever was magical, she was going into the fight badly prepared.
Lianne was fanning herself. “It’s so hot in here,” she complained.
“We’re trying to sweat the fever out, Majesty,” Alanna explained. “It’s best to try all the natural cures first.”
The king patted the queen’s hand. “Remember what Duke Baird said. We can trust Myles and Alan. We must trust them.”
Lianne went to the sleeping Jonathan, taking his hand. Her eyes were bright with tears. “He’s all we have, Alan. I can’t—I am unable to bear any more children.” She smiled bravely at the king. “If my lord trusts you, then so do I.”
“Mother?” Jonathan’s voice was no more than a whisper. “Father?”
Alanna hid in the dressing room. It was not long before Roald called her back. “He is asleep. Will you call us if—” The king could not say it. Impulsively Alanna reached out and patted his arm.